Chapter 5: its okay

By the time she reached the house, her fingers were numb. She fumbled with the keys at the front door, her hands shaking, either from the cold or the fear—or both.

She stepped inside, locking the door quietly behind her.

“Dad?” she called out, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

No answer.

She moved quickly to the kitchen, putting the groceries away and getting the stove on. The clock on the wall ticked louder than it should’ve. Every second of it felt heavy.

She started cooking—his favorite. Something simple, something that would hopefully keep the yelling to a minimum. Her hands moved fast, practiced. She didn’t even have to think about it anymore. It was just survival.

Then, the front door creaked open.

Her blood ran cold getting goosebumps all over her body .

Heavy footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

He was home.

She turned the stove down and took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady.

" I-I made d-dinner,” she said without turning around to meet his eyes .

There was a long silence. She could feel his eyes on her back.

“You're late,” he said flatly.

“I know. I’m sorry. The line at the store was long,” she lied.

Another pause. The tension in the room thickened.

“You better hope it tastes better than last time,” he muttered, walking past her to the living room, cracking open a beer.

Mia blinked hard, swallowed her fear, and plated the food. She placed it gently on the table and stepped back like it might explode.

She didn’t speak again. She just watched and then went back to her room with an empty stomach .

Because in this house, silence and obedience was safer.

Mia closed her door quietly, pressing her back against it once it clicked shut. Her room was small, barely more than a bed and a desk, but it was the only space that felt even slightly hers. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her stomach aching—not just from hunger, but from the knot of fear she lived with every day.

She could still hear the muffled sounds from the living room. The clink of a fork and knife against a plate. The hiss of the television. The occasional muttered curse when the remote didn’t work.

She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. The bruises from last time had faded, but the memory and the permanent scars hadn’t. It never really did.

A soft vibration buzzed against her leg—her phone.

Her boss, Clover.

Mia: 'um, hello?'

Clover: 'hey Mia, I called you because I want to ask if you could work overtime tomorrow, and you'll get a bonus and extra money?'

Mia: 'oh, why, did, something happen?'

Clover: 'yep one of my employee called me last minute saying she can't come to work, so I called you if you could do it?'

Mia: 'Ok then, I'll do it'

Clover: 'thank you so much, your a life saviour, then I'll go now, bye see you tomorrow'

Mia: 'bye'

She then cried herself to sleep, ignoring the hunger and telling herself that everything is going to be alright, dreading on what will happen tomorrow

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